Does Anyone Know Where It All Began
Does anyone ever know where it all began? Somewhere back there. Thatās the way it is. We wake up one day and things arenāt what they seem. Your life is one big Raymond Chandler who-done-it. Something reminisced in a Tom Waits song.
The fog hangs in the air like a blanket, both in comfort and pain.
It suppresses the will to live.
It comforts the soul of the drunkard.
Why is it that the bars along Market have their ceilings so low, and their lights so dim?
It all reminds me of those long lost dank nights in New Orleans.
I would hide in a corner booth brooding over the human condition.
Too bright for my own existence.
I live like all those artists before me, half awake, and the other half in denial.
Here I set, a glass of beer in one hand, while Iām toying with a bourbon in the other.
An empty High Life sets on the bar aching for replacement.
I catch a glimpse of her hiding behind the frame of my Ray Bans.
Veronica Lake with years.
The smoke from her cigarette dances pirouettesā up away from her fingers finishing in an arabesque before melting into the haze.
Ray Charles is on the jukebox, something slow and bluesy.
Somebody, please shoot me to end this misery.
She took the boy and left me sometime after sunrise.
Iād come home one too many times too drunk to care.
Woke up in the haze of too much Jagermeister and Red Bull.
Just another torch song trilogy.
Why canāt life be as simple as the one I grew up with on television?
Things happen for a reason, or so Iām told.
The things happening around me are more like the Perseid meteor shower.
If I move one inch the wrong way, Iāll get one smashing through my skull.
Life is not that complicated.
Sobriety comes with complications.
Always the pain in the brain for the fix of just one drink.
Time to get back to work. Time to move on with my life. Time to forget the past. My hell is I remember everything no matter how drunk I get.